


appreciative listener

by Ceebee



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Dirty Talk, Frottage, M/M, Masturbation, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-23 19:52:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4889950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ceebee/pseuds/Ceebee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt: "Foggy touching himself and Matt being forced to listen but not allowed do anything about it."</p>
<p>(now with unexpected second chapter and bonus orgasm? o.o)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/5006.html?thread=9719182#cmt9719182
> 
> Title nabbed from this quote (which was included in the prompt):
> 
> _An appreciative listener is always stimulating._  
>  -Agatha Christie

Matt almost wishes that he’d been tied down. At least then he wouldn’t have to try so hard to control himself; to stay seated and _listen_ , while foggy lounges on the bed, one hand between his legs. At the moment, Foggy’s just playing — fondling his balls lightly, his breathing steady and even. He’s turned on, but it’s manageable. 

Matt, on the other hand, had been half hard when Foggy told him to take a seat, and is now aching, his cock straining at his zipper. He wants to undo his pants, just for a bit of relief, but he _can’t_ , because Foggy hasn’t said he’s allowed to move and that means he _isn’t allowed to move_. So, instead of reaching for his fly, he balls his hands into fists and rests them on his lap, trying to match Foggy’s breaths with his own, only for them to come out too fast and too harsh. 

He needs to get a grip. Foggy isn’t even really _doing_ anything yet, he hasn’t even fully wrapped his fingers around his cock, he’s still only teasing — himself, and Matt. Mostly Matt. 

Matt tips back his head and digs his nails into his palms. 

“Uh-uh,” Foggy says, and it’s the first noise he’s consciously made since walking to the bed with a casual _hold still_ thrown over his shoulder. “You think showing me that pretty throat is going to make me go easy on you? Head down, Matt.”

Matt swallows, and wonders — _had_ he thought that? Maybe...maybe, yes. He’s gotten good at pulling Foggy’s strings, finding out what’ll set that familiar pulse racing. His Adam’s apple bobs around the swallow just before his chin drops to his chest, and Foggy lets out a low note of warning. Matt can’t help smirking at his knees.

Then, Foggy uncaps the lube and the smile leaves Matt’s face as quickly as it had arrived. This is never easy for him, and Foggy knows it. He _must_ know it, from the way Matt always twitches with arousal, always fights with himself to not spring from the chair and towards the bed. Because Matt’s body is a tool that he taught Foggy how to use, never quite expecting him to be so damn good at it.

Matt has found that underestimating Foggy generally comes with a price.

The lube is squeezed onto Foggy’s palm and Matt can hear the squelch of him coating his fingers in it. He’s always liked it wet enough that there’s hardly any friction, but Matt thinks he’s become even more fond of doing it this way since realising the effect it has on Matt. It’s not the method — when Matt jerks off, he sometimes has to be persuaded to not just do it dry — but the sounds it makes. The slippery pull of skin on skin, the messiness of it...it makes Matt jerk helplessly where he sits, thrusting into the air while his chest rises and falls in uneven pants.

Foggy hums, deep and satisfied, as he starts sliding his hand up his dick. “I’ve been wanting to do this all day,” he says. His voice is pleasant, idle, as if he’s discussing something as ordinary as the weather. “Watching you trying to concentrate in your office while I described how goddamn _pretty_ you looked when I fucked you the other night. You know how hard it was not to just get myself off under the desk, buddy? Karen wouldn’t have known. But if she _did_ , she probably would have guessed it was your fault. You’re too slutty for your own good.”

Matt grunts and twists his fingers in the material of his pants. Foggy had been at it since that morning: talking quietly under his breath, knowing that Matt could hear him.

“You were going so red, sweetheart.” The mix of fondness and condescension, with just the faintest snag of cruelty, sends something swooping in Matt’s stomach, and it’s all he can do not to throw back his head again and gasp at the ceiling. “Trying so hard to get your work done when all you wanted to do was rub one off while I told you how gorgeous you are. Isn’t that right?”

Matt gapes, hips moving in minute thrusts, failing to get any friction.

“Matt.” Foggy’s hand falls still, and _no_ — Matt sucks his bottom lip into his mouth to muffle the sound of his disappointment. “I asked you a question.”

“Mm.” Matt casts around for the right answer, eyes flitting from side to side. 

Foggy sighs, sounding put upon, as if Matt is being particularly troublesome, and for some reason that goes straight to Matt’s cock.

“Yes,” he manages, once the wave of dizzying heat has passed. “That’s right.”

Foggy makes a soft, pleased noise, and starts fisting his cock again. “I thought so. You just can’t get enough of it — hearing how perfect you look with my cock in your ass, or down your throat. How perfect you _sound_ —” Matt moans, then, because _oh_ , “— choking around my dick. Can you imagine it for me, Matty? Imagine my dick’s in your mouth?”

“I want,” Matt says, half pleading. “I want that. Let me, Foggy. I want to do that.” 

Foggy sinks back against the pillows he’s got stacked along the headboard and Matt revels in the jump of his heartbeat. “You think that your mouth’s better than my hand? Is that what you’re saying?”

Something’s coiled in Matt’s chest. He’s caught off guard; Foggy’s trapped him, and it’s awful, and it’s perfect. “No,” he says, because nothing Matt has will ever be better than anything of Foggy’s. “No, but I want —”

“Don’t you want me to have the best, Matt?”

Matt can’t help the frustrated whine that escapes him, and he kicks his heels against the floor. “ _Yes_ , but. _Foggy_.”

“I know,” Foggy says, and Matt huffs, because of course Foggy knows. Foggy knows exactly what he’s doing, and that’s why Matt feels like he might shake right out of his skin. “I’m sorry, bud. This is how we’re doing it tonight.”

Matt rocks on the legs of the chair, he can’t help it, like a kid who’s been made to sit outside the classroom. He _needs_ touch, Foggy’s hands on him or else his hands on Foggy, but at the same time he wants _this_. Denial that claws at his insides, making his eyes water, his whole body straining.

“Stop that,” Foggy says, and Matt tips back onto all four chair legs with a shuddering breath. “You’re supposed to be paying attention, Matt, not distracting yourself.”

_I wasn’t_ , Matt thinks, even though Foggy’s right, again. Foggy’s always right. 

He takes a deep breath, and focuses on the increasing speed of Foggy’s movements, listening for the slight jolt that happens every time he reaches the head of his dick. It’s fucking torturous, and Matt teeters, wondering, almost delirious, whether he’ll be able to come untouched. He’s never managed it before, and isn’t sure that he wants to, because then Foggy _definitely_ won’t touch him, and Matt can’t handle the thought of that right now. 

“Please,” he says, hoping Foggy will know what he’s asking for even though Matt’s not sure of it himself. “ _Please_.”

Foggy moans, curses, and Matt hears the creak of the mattress as he jerks into his fist. 

“Please come, Foggy,” Matt says it as he realises it’s what he wants, so desperately that he really isn’t sure he can keep his ass on the chair. His fingers and toes are curled, and staying still is next to impossible. 

“Matt,” Foggy says, and the word’s punctuated with awe and arousal, and Matt might burst. 

Foggy is never quiet when he comes — not unless he’s got his mouth latched onto Matt’s neck or shoulder, or he’s sucking on Matt’s cock (and even then he’s not _quiet_ , just muffled, the noises trapped between his lips and Matt’s skin). Now isn’t any different; his breath catches, and he groans, and Matt hears come landing on his belly, sliding down over his fingers.

He can _taste_ it, hinted on the air, and it’s enough to finally, _finally_ , drive him to his feet, because God, he wants that taste in his mouth for real.

“Matt,” Foggy says again, and he sounds wrung out, fucking _delicious_ , but Matt still pauses, heart pounding. “Sit back down, Matty.”

Matt clenches his fists. He doesn’t want to sit back down. He’s done with this game, now. He just wants to feel Foggy underneath him; to kiss him and rub against him; to get the flat of his tongue against where Foggy’s come is cooling on his stomach.

“Come on,” Foggy says. “You’ve been so good for me, buddy. Just a few more minutes.”

It takes a couple of seconds, and then Matt takes the stumbling step backwards, sinking back down onto the chair.

It’s not what he wants at the same time as it’s everything that he wants, and Matt doesn’t understand it, but he _trusts_ Foggy...

And so he sits, drawing his hands back into his lap, and he waits for Foggy to come to him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> an anon wanted a follow-up of the aftercare variety so….I wrote more sex? but then also aftercare? idek?? (also written at 2am bc apparently that’s a thing i do :/)

It seems to take an age. Foggy’s not talking anymore, and not rushing, either — he's cleaning himself up, going as far as to change the sheets, even though they only smell of Foggy and that’s something Matt _likes_. 

Matt wills himself to soften as he waits, because it’s getting stupid, how painfully hard he is while Foggy is doing absolutely nothing to try and turn him on. He’s not talking dirty, or touching himself; he’s just keeping his distance and that...it shouldn’t be making Matt feel the way he does. He shouldn’t enjoy being ignored, and he _doesn’t_ , because he knows what that really feels like — he knows how it is when someone walks out even when he begs them to stay, and he _hates_ that, he hates it in a way that’s still tender, like an open wound.

But this…

This is different, somehow. This is Foggy, who left once, but then _came back_ , and who has Matt all figured out in a way that lets him chuck bedsheets into the hamper while the muscles in Matt’s arms jump from the tension of holding position, and his throat opens and closes around noises that he’s not letting free.

Foggy knows how long he can draw this out before Matt starts feeling sour, his mood spiralling, his cock softening as he starts to wonder whether this isn’t actually a game — whether Foggy’s actually mad and everything’s for real. 

They’re not at that point yet, but they’re close, and Matt has to fight not to say anything. Not to ask for reassurance that Foggy _will_ touch him, eventually, when this stops feeling so good.

He must make some kind of sound, despite trying so hard to stay silent, because Foggy pauses in making the bed. He turns, and Matt presses back against the chair, gripping his knees in a desperate bid to get his body back under control, lips forced tightly together. 

Foggy sighs, but it’s not like before — there’s no disappointment or frustration, just something kind, and something knowing. “Getting a bit much?” he asks.

Matt squirms, toes digging into the carpet, his ass shifting on the seat. He can feel his cock rubbing against the inside of his pants, the tickle of every damn fibre, and he can smell the freshly washed bed sheets over the headier stink of the dirty ones, piled in the hamper. His pulse is picking up just from being looked at — Foggy _must_ be looking, he wouldn’t have that tone in his voice otherwise — and he knows that all these things added together mean that, yes, it’s getting a bit much.

But Matt’s nothing if not an overachiever, and he grits his teeth, shakes his head. He doesn’t want to embarrass himself again — can’t quite believe how he got to his feet and had to be coaxed into getting back down, like this is the first time all over again and Matt still isn’t sure what he wants, and still pushes at every opportunity, and still doesn’t trust that Foggy won’t take it too far and forget to reach out, leaving Matt untethered, floating, alone. 

“C’mon, Matt,” Foggy says, and it pulls Matt out of his own head, forcing him back into the room. “We’ve talked about this, haven’t we?”

Have they? Matt casts back over the conversations they’ve had, and stumbles across the one he thinks Foggy must mean: _When I ask how you feel, I want you to be honest with me, okay?_

Honesty. It’s a concept Matt still grapples with, most days. A lot of the time it’s so much easier to just...skirt the edges of the truth. To bend it, twist it ever so slightly out of shape. 

“I’m,” he starts, nails digging through fabric and into his skin. Foggy is still and patient on the other side of the room, and Matt twitches, blinking hard. “Can you come closer? Please. Please, Foggy, can you come closer? I’m so —” he swallows back a whine, struggles to keep his chin lowered. “I’m so hard.”

It takes so much effort to get the words out that Matt misses Foggy make the journey. One second, he might as well be miles away, and the next he’s right _there_ , close enough that if Matt tilted forward his face would be pressed against Foggy’s stomach.

He bites his lip, self restraint a thousand times harder when temptation is so near, but then Foggy slides his fingers into Matt’s hair and it’s instant relief. He doesn’t have to try anymore: Foggy’s here, and his warmth is suddenly soft on Matt’s skin as he lets himself be guided to exactly where he wants to be, one ear resting against Foggy’s belly.

Foggy hugs him, with his big hands stroking down over Matt’s scalp to cup the base of his skull, before sliding lower, clever fingers kneading his shoulders. Matt feels like butter. Like he could melt away.

“Does it hurt?” Foggy asks, and Matt hums, twisting his neck so he can bury his face against Foggy. He doesn’t want to think about things hurting. He just wants _this_. “Matty.”

Matt breathes out, losing himself for a moment in the in the heat that creates. Then he says, “Yeah,” because _yeah_. His dick is still throbbing painfully, and it’s getting worse at the same time as it gets better.

Foggy runs his thumb over the shell of Matt’s ear, and Matt shivers. “Okay. I want you to shift forward for me, alright?”

Matt does it without thinking, scooting a little nearer, and doesn’t register what Foggy’s plan is until he’s hit with it, right between the legs.

He lets out a startled gasp, and his hands finally detach themselves from his knees to land on Foggy’s hips. “ _Fog_ —”

“Shh,” Foggy says, still holding him, with his thigh pressing insistently against Matt’s crotch. “You’ve done so well, huh, Matt? I want you to get off now. That’s it, yeah,” he sounds breathless, both sated and horny enough that Matt can smell it on him as he starts rutting against his leg, fingers clenched in Foggy’s shirt. “There you go. _There_ you go.”

He’s still murmuring, hands warmly grasping at Matt’s back and neck and shoulders, when Matt comes in a shuddering wave.

Foggy doesn’t let go of him afterwards. He grips him under the arms and heaves him to his feet, and even though Matt doesn’t need the help, he doesn’t decline it. Instead, he wraps his arm around Foggy’s waist, and noses into the crook of his neck, kissing and licking him there until Foggy laughs. 

They both crowd into the centre of the bed, neither particularly wanting to pick a side, and Matt kicks off his pants. Foggy tells him there’s water on the nightstand if he wants it, and Matt accidentally yawns in his face.

Foggy snorts, swatting at him so that his fingers snag on Matt’s parted lips, and then he tugs him into his arms, gets him settled against his chest. Matt feels it rise and fall beneath him, strong and dependable, and lets himself be reminded, just this once, that neither of them are going anywhere.

**Author's Note:**

> someone take the kinkmeme away from me pls


End file.
